Rumor Has It
by ladyspock7
Summary: For Gobblepot Positivity Week 2018 from tumblr! The 'Free Space' prompt. Mayor Cobblepot and Jim go public with their relationship, and Oswald thrives in the spotlight until certain cutting remarks get to him.
1. Chapter 1

Getting together with Oswald was one of the best decisions Jim ever made, once the yelling, the accusations and arguments, apologies, and other emotionally exhausting conversations were over with.

And that was just Harvey.

At least the rant blew over quickly. About ten minutes of shouting and what the fuck were you thinking, and I can't believe you didn't tell me!

Then the outrage passed and Harvey accepted the situation, though he was still miffed that Jim hid such a juicy secret from him for so long.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," he said for the third time. "I thought I was your best friend."

"That's your biggest concern here?" Jim said, smiling now that the storm had blown over.

"Among other things." Harvey jabbed a finger at him. "If you guys get engaged, I better be the first one you tell."

Jim's mouth fell open as his brain fused.

Harvey smiled evilly at his reaction. "I can see it now. Splashed across the society page," he cackled.

"Yeah, 'cause my last engagements went so well," Jim stammered. "Can we have one crisis at time, please? Besides, we are going public. No engagement, but..." He shrugged.

Harvey stopped laughing. "Oh, fuck."

* * *

Not that marriage wasn't an option, Jim reflected later, but too many changes, too fast, could be disastrous, and he was determined to make it work with Oswald.

Besides, Jim had been so sure that Barbara was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Later, he felt that Lee was the one, or at least the one he should have wanted. Barbara threatening her with a knife on two separate occasions hadn't helped matters any, but the truth was that he and Lee just didn't click.

Both relationships blew up in his face. Both had left him under convoluted circumstances that weren't entirely Jim's fault, and he used to beat himself up about it nonetheless. Surely there'd been more he could do, there must've been some way to alter events...

He made a conscious effort to quit berating himself. It wasn't fair to Oswald for Jim to keep stewing over past relationships.

He'd hurt Oswald enough. They'd never even talked about the possibility of getting married, and Jim balked at screwing up, yet again, of pushing it too fast and driving Oswald away.

Still, Harvey's words settled into the back of his mind for him to mull over in quiet moments.

* * *

At least Harvey was still Jim's friend when all was said and done.

Oswald had to deal with Edward Nygma.

Though Oswald never told Ed that he'd developed a romantic attachmment to him, severing the friendship was traumatic enough that Jim knew better than to make light of it. Or to be so crass as to crow about it, either, in front of Oswald, though he freely expressed the extent of his feelings to Harvey.

Once Oswald learned of Edward's scheming to frame Jim for murder the year before and getting him consigned to Blackgate, and later shooting him, Oswald could no longer condone Ed's presence.

Ed making himself look like a hero by manipulating Butch into trying to murder Oswald hadn't helped Ed's cause, either.

Oswald took that betrayal especially hard. While no stranger to conducting such manipulative schemes himself, he usually didn't conduct them against his nearest and dearest, and his list of nearest and dearest was an extremely short one.

Even though Oswald awarded him a hefty severance package, a glowing letter of reference, and even (far too generously in Jim's opinion) living accomodations in a condominium for one year, Ed quit on the spot and stormed out.

Though apparently he wasn't too proud to turn down the condo.

Oswald recounted the story for Jim later.

"It's a good thing you weren't here," Oswald said, and drew a shaky breath, pouring a shot of whiskey with a trembling hand. "He accused you of conspiring against him."

He let out a humorless bark of laughter, and spread his arms, turning aside to address a space somewhere off in the middle of the room. "Yes, Edward, it's all about you, Jim wormed his way into my affections just to orchestrate a massive conspiracy to ruin your life." Oswald flopped onto the sofa and chugged the shot of whiskey as if he had a grudge against it.

Jim snorted and would have made a sarcastic comment, but Oswald's eyes were red, and he'd reapplied the mascara from this morning, too.

He sat gingerly on the other end of the sofa. Oswald had been crying over another man. He supposed he ought to be angry about that, except that he understood what Oswald was going through. Or at least he thought he did.

Oswald had so few friends. Ed's betrayal was a serious blow. Jim suspected Oswald was having a hard time letting go of the friendship that had been a steady support during the mayoral campaign.

And Oswald had just kicked Ed out, after all. Mostly out.

Jim was less than thrilled that Oswald set up a former love interest in another house, but it didn't seem like the right time to gripe about it, not when Oswald was so shaken and miserable. "What'd you say?"

"I told him he was being ridiculous, of course. I'm not fretting about your intentions, Jim. Clearly he was lashing out, trying to plant doubts in my mind." He tilted his head and raised a sardonic eyebrow. "How can I put this? I'm fairly certain that you're too honest to pull off such a convoluted, diabolical plot."

Jim felt a tension in his shoulders release. "Because I'm such a lousy liar?"

"Something like that." Oswald's smile faded. "He's vindictive and vengeful, Jim, though I don't have to remind you of that. The way he used the Red Hoods to his advantage..." He shook his head. "Clever, I'll grant him that. Promise you'll take precautions."

Jim nodded. "I'll be careful." He studied Oswald, who was staring at nothing and slumped in the corner of the sofa as if all the air had been sucked out of him. "Anything I can do?"

Oswald eyed him sideways. "What a very policeman-like thing to say." His mouth quirked into a smile to take the sting out of his words.

Jim felt encouraged to move closer, though he struggled to find the right words, words that wouldn't reveal his rather uncouth victorious feelings over the ousting of Ed. "Feel like talking about it?"

"I'm fine, Jim."

"But you were crying."

Oswald huffed out an exclamation and raised a hand to his eye. "Shit, I used Visine, too." He leaned forward on his elbows, fixing Jim with an intense, worried look. "I don't love him, Jim, I swear. You don't have to worry." He waved a hand at his face. "This. It's nothing. I got a little overemotional. That's all."

Jim wiped a hand over his mouth, wishing he hadn't pushed him to talk. He thought he was being comforting, but all he'd done was make Oswald more anxious. When would he learn to shut his mouth?

He scooted closer to put his hand on Oswald's back. "It's okay, babe," he murmured. "I understand."

Oswald's face crumpled and he threw his arms around him to hug him tight, which was all the encouragement Jim needed to fully embrace him back. "We don't have to talk about it anymore," Jim said.

"Thank God," Oswald said into Jim's neck, and sniffed. Jim held him, stroking his back until he calmed down.

Oswald relaxed into his embrace for a few more moments before he sat back and dabbed carefully at his eyes. "I'm through crying. And now you have to wine and dine me and take me to bed."

Jim smiled and bent his head to look into Oz's face. "Oh yeah? You up to it?"

"I just said I was." He raised his head to give Jim an imperious smile. "So where are you taking me?"

* * *

Part of the reason they were going public was to have some control over the coverage. If Nygma decided to out them from spite, he could make it look sordid. Or he could threaten to blackmail Oswald with it.

Oswald believed a pre-emptive strike would take that power out of Ed's hands.

* * *

Jim opened his eyes. Morning sunlight peeked around the heavy curtains of Oswald's bedroom and a glance at the clock confirmed that it was nearly 8 AM. The other side of the bed was empty. Oswald was probably already impeccably dressed and ready for another round of questioning from the media.

What continued to astound Jim was that Oswald was actually looking forward to it.

Mayor Cobblepot hooking up with the golden boy of the GCPD was the story of the decade, and Jim gained new respect for Oswald's ability to face the crowd of reporters every day with a smile and ready-made phrases on his lips, such as 'two consenting adults' and 'the privacy of one's home,' over and over again.

The third day of this crap, and Jim was sick of it. He and Oswald had been secretly together for weeks, and if he'd known it was going to be this bad he would've opted to keep it that way.

Jim dragged on pajama bottoms and a robe, went into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then shuffled downstairs.

"There's the sleepyhead," Oswald said fondly, putting aside the morning newspaper.

Jim walked over to lean down and press a kiss to his lips. He nuzzled Oz's cheek for a moment, inhaling the new cologne that gave him a faint smell of cedar.

Oswald touched Jim's chin. "I almost thought I'd have to send Olga to prod you awake."

Olga, bringing in coffee and toast, gave Oswald a startled look, glared at Jim, and muttered something under her breath in Russian. During his and Oswald's secret trysts, they always met at Jim's place. He was a newcomer to the mansion and she was keeping an eye on him, as if she didn't quite trust him not to steal the silverware.

Olga set the cup and plate at the setting next to Oswald, but Jim didn't sit down. "Maybe it'd be better if I took some time off," he said.

Oswald wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Oh, you can't mean that. It's all set. Manny and Grizz will be here promptly at 8:30."

Those were the bodyguards Oswald hired to clear a path for Jim through the reporters camping out on the steps of the GCPD. Having an escort was humiliating but necessary, and out of respect for Jim's sensibilities, Oswald had gone to a lot of trouble to find muscle that didn't have any outstanding arrest warrants.

Jim had to admit they did a fantastic job. The two hulking men were roughly the size of four defensive linemen put together, and they moved through crowds with the unstoppability of bulldozers. Even the most determined of journalists got out of their way. Jim sometimes worried they'd trample somebody and not even notice.

Because of the excess of publicity, it was impossible for Jim to visit crime scenes or conduct interviews with witnesses and suspects unless they were brought to the station for him. Harvey confined him to desk work until the media frenzy blew over.

"I know you're not happy being chained to your desk," Oswald continued, "but surely that's better than pacing around here all day."

He glanced at Olga, who was disappearing into the next room. "Window cleaners are coming this afternoon. She hates it when she thinks outsiders are taking work away from her," he said in a low voice. "It's better if you're not underfoot. I think she's planning on taking the rugs out and beating them."

"So that's later, right?" He leaned against Oswald's chair and slid a hand up the back of Oswald's head, running his fingers through his hair. "You could call in sick, too," he murmured. "We could spend the morning in bed, escape the house later."

The idea had sudden appeal. Normally he wouldn't dream of playing hooky, but he dreaded the prospect of yet another day under public scrutiny, and here was Oswald, showered and shaved and in a freshly pressed suit, and Jim liked nothing better than sliding his hands under that colorful waistcoat and peeling the entire ensemble off him.

Oswald rose a little higher in his seat, leaning into the touch of his hand, and for a few heated moments Jim thought he'd won, but then Oswald swallowed hard and grasped his wrist, gently but firmly pulling Jim's hand down.

"That's ...very tempting," he said, rubbing his thumb over the back of Jim's hand. "But not possible. Not today. I have a press conference at 9:30." His look became mildly reproachful. "We're going to have to conduct one together sooner or later, you know. I don't know why you're so set against it, you've done them before."

Jim gave his hand a squeeze before sitting at his place. "Yeah, for work. Not my private life." With a sigh he took a fortifying sip of coffee.

Oswald patted his knee. "This'll blow over in a week or two."

"A week! Or two!"

"Not any longer than that, darling. You'll see. They'll get bored and move on to the next scandal."

"We're not a scandal."

"We most certainly are," Oswald said cheerfully. "Come meet with my people. They'll help you prepare some statements. Those mean old journalists will leave you alone quicker if you give them something to chew on."

* * *

Manny and Grizz performed magnificently, escorting Jim into the building promptly by nine o'clock and getting him back to his car once the work day was done.

Jim caved to pressure, and endured a press conference where he was more than happy to let Oswald did most of the talking. Whenever an insensitive question was directed at Jim, wariness would surface in Oswald's otherwise smiling face and this encouraged Jim to keep his temper. If Oswald could keep his own infamous volatility under control, then so could he.

As the days passed and the mayor and his boyfriend failed to explode or do anything more exciting than go out to dinner, the furor died down as Oswald predicted.

Reporters no longer showed up at the police station en masse, and Manny and Grizz went back to whatever it was they'd been doing before Oswald recruited them. Jim decided it was best not to ask.

Jim was relieved. Oswald was mildly depressed at the decrease in attention, though after a day or two of sulking he seemed to get over it.

He resumed his usual detective work, as an actual detective, and threw himself back into it with gusto. At last his life seemed to be stabilizing.

Nonetheless Jim knew there would be other, more subtle challenges. Or perhaps not so subtle.

There was a new sort of tension at work. Nothing sinister, but full acceptance of his new status in the order of things hadn't quite taken affect. Jim could feel it in the way conversations would stop when he walked by, and sometimes he could feel eyes on him, speculative and amused, though he never caught anyone in the act.

A hazing might be in the works. There had been a reprieve during the media circus, as cops would always present a united front against outsiders, but now that that was all over, they could get down to the serious business of cutting Jim down to size.

Not even his friendship with Captain Bullock would save him. Hell, Harvey might even be in on it, though captains didn't usually stoop to that kind of thing. ("Once you get a certain rank," Harvey complained in a bar shortly after his unwilling promotion, "all the fun gets sucked out of you." He'd paused for dramatic effect. "Except for me," he said with a grin, reaching for a glass with three paper umbrellas and two kinds of fruit in it.)

Jim got the sense that most of his co-workers were more amused than hostile about his newly revealed relationship with one of the most infamous villains in the city so it probably wouldn't be too bad. Maybe just some teasing.

Or maybe he'd walk in one morning to find his desk covered with penguin stickers.

* * *

One night he arrived home late to find Oswald staring out one of the dining room windows.

In the second before Oswald turned at the sound of his step, he got a glimpse of his profile.

Worry pinched Oswald's face, the corners of his expressive mouth tight, his shoulders rigid as if armored against pain, one hand clenched into a fist where it was leaning on the window frame.

Jim's heart sank. He'd called to tell him he would be late, but it had gotten to be much later than he'd anticipated.

Then in the next instant Oswald turned with a bright smile, and he walked to Jim, reaching for him, and Jim enfolded him in his arms, kissing him soundly, then hugged him close. It looked like Oswald needed it.

Jim thought Oswald clutched at his suit jacket with a little more urgency than necessary.

"Sorry it got so late," he said.

Oswald stepped back quickly, and ducked his head, still smiling with determination and a little embarrasment. He waved his hand. "Oh, I'm just a little tired, I suppose. Did something happen?"

"Yeah. A perp had a seizure in one of the holding cells and they had to call an ambulance. Moved other suspects to other cells, and one of them tried to escape. It was pretty chaotic."

Oswald nodded, frowning sympathetically. He leaned on the cane with both hands, and maybe that was the reason for his white-knuckled grip, but a subdued fragility was evident in the lines of his arms, the way he held himself. Jim might not even have noticed, except for the worry on Oswald's face before he dropped the mask over it.

Whatever was making Oswald anxious, it didn't seem to be because Jim was a little late.

His stomach tightened. Things had been going so well lately, and he had no wish to start up what might be an emotionally draining conversation. He didn't want to pick at every little thing, or to make a big deal out of what might truly be overtiredness on Oswald's part. Maybe a bad memory had surfaced that had nothing to do with Jim or their relationship at all.

He really ought to ask, let Oswald decide whether or not to talk about it. Jim didn't want Oswald to feel like he had to hide things from him, but before he could come up with a suitably framed question, Oswald straightened. "I have something for you."

He hurried out to the hallway, cane clicking on the wooden floor, and came back with a plastic bag. "An early birthday gift."

"Oh, Oz, it's weeks away," he said, smiling in spite of himself.

The present was a pair of shoes made of fine Italian leather, that, when he put them on, were the most comfortable things he'd ever had on his feet.

He glanced at the bag as he walked back and forth across the room to test them. Not even a gift bag. Not that he minded, but usually Oswald...

"Do they fit right?" Oswald asked, breaking into his thoughts. "They don't pinch anywhere?"

"More comfortable than my slippers." He gave Oswald a brief kiss on the mouth. "Thanks, babe. They're great."

"You look very handsome in them." Oswald set his cane on a chair and slipped an arm around Jim's waist.

"The shoes make me handsome?" Jim chuckled. He was quick to encircle Oswald with his arms.

"On the contrary, you make them look good." Oswald's eyes flickered up and down, his cool fingers trailing over Jim's chest.

Blatant flattery though it be, it worked on Jim like a charm. He pulled him close. "You cold, babe? I'll warm you up."

Oswald sank against him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as their mouths met. Jim's tongue flickered over Oswald's mouth. Oswald let out a little 'mm' of appreciation and closed his lips over it, letting Jim slide it in.

Jim's grip tightened, possessive, needy, and he dropped one hand to cup his buttock. Warmth pooled low in his belly .

Oswald nipped gently at Jim's lips, opened his mouth wider to invite him in deeper, and pushed his groin against him. Jim could feel him hardening already.

"Hey, you beat me to it," Jim murmured against his lips.

He felt Oswald smile. "Better keep up."

"Bed?"

"Past time," Oswald said, breathlessly, bangs falling over one eye and his face flushed pink, lips swollen with kissing.

Jim was nearly undone by the sight. They made their way upstairs side by side, arms around each other's hips, Jim revelling in Oswald's slender body leaning on him.

Maybe there wasn't anything wrong after all.

* * *

Later as Oswald lay with his head pillowed on Jim's bare chest, listening to his steady breathing as he slept, he felt unaccustomed shame. He'd never done that before, never sidetracked Jim so thoroughly just to avoid a conversation.

He'd seen concerns rising in Jim's eyes, and Oswald had simply panicked. The way out of a possibly difficult conversation presented itself so easily, the distractions ready to hand, as it were.

Besides, he'd felt a sudden, desperate need for Jim's touch, the assurance that Jim still desired him.

Prodding their relationship into the limelight had taxed Jim greatly, he knew, but fortunately the man's innate stubbornness had seen him through the media scrutiny and kept him by Oswald's side.

 _Damn Barbara!_ Oswald thought with sudden heat. That attention-grabbing witch came out from whatever rock she'd been hiding under long enough to talk to a minor reporter from an obscure local channel, and it hadn't even gotten picked up by anyone else, so far as he knew, but her mocking voice came back to haunt him.

 _Oh, of course I wish them well. I couldn't be happier for them. I just hope it lasts,_ she'd said with a regretful sigh, the scheming vixen. _Which I'm sure it will. Mayor Cobblepot is very well-off,, I'm sure it makes up for the... y'know. Other things._

She'd wrinkled her perfect little nose suggestively, to indicate there were a lot of 'other things' which she was too polite to mention, and, although it was offscreen, there was no mistaking the hitch of her shoulder as she made a scuffling movement with her foot.

To think he'd once considered her a friend.

He shouldn't have let Barbara's words get to him, but they had, which led him to do a little digging into Jim's past. He wished he hadn't done that either. Once he got a look at the kinds of people to whom Jim was usually attracted, it made him wonder how long Jim would continue to be satisfied with _him_.

Must he always be plagued by anxiety? Jim must be weary of dealing with Oswald's insecurities by now.

A sharp twinge in his bad knee reminded him it was time to switch position Carefully, so as not to wake Jim, he shifted onto his other side. Jim murmured in his sleep and rolled over with him, folding himself against Oswald's back and wrapping a strong arm around his chest. Jim wriggled his hips a little to fit more firmly against Oswald's bottom, settling back into full sleep again with a gentle exhalation.

Oswald felt a pleasant shiver run through him and he tucked his own arm around Jim's. This was so, so good, Jim holding him like this, as if he was something to be cherished and protected.

It was important to keep Jim happy, now more than ever. Fortunately Oswald had the means for doing so.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim should have known better than to wear the new shoes to work. He really ought to have worn something less ...expensive looking.

But they were just shoes. Who looked at shoes?

A roomfull of bored police officers and detectives, apparently.

Nothing happened that day, but Jim sometimes felt eyes following him.

He was long overdue for a night out with his fellow officers, but as Jim walked into the bar that evening to knock back a drink or three, he was greeted by a chorus of wolf whistles along with Harvey's loud voice overriding them all: "There's our loverboy!"

It made him want to walk right back out again, but maybe this was it, the hazing that he'd been anticipating that would not only put him in his place, but would show acceptance by the other cops. Maybe there wouldn't be any pranks. If a little teasing was as bad as it was going to get, he'd take it.

He took the empty chair Harvey waved him into.

"Nice to be popular," Jim said.

Harvey clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well, your shoes are."

"I think I'm too sober for this," Jim said, glancing at the grinning faces around the table. Fortunately Officer Kramer arrived with another tray of beer mugs and Jim grabbed one.

Harvey laced his fingers together on the marked-up tabletop. "You gotta expect your coworkers to have questions. I mean, they inquired of me first, of course, but what do I know?"

"Glad to see the ol' GCPD work ethic is still going strong. My shoes are so interesting."

"Jim, your footwear almost blinded us. Hard not to notice."

"They're not that shiny," Jim protested. "I just polished them."

"They look like they cost more than my car," Kramer announced.

"Hell, they look like they cost more than my house!" Sherwin laughed.

"Another early birthday present, eh?" Alvarez said, grinning.

Jim glared at Harvey. "You keeping track?"

"You mean keeping track of the shoes, the watch, that silk shirt?" Harvey grinned, unapologetic. "Almost makes me wish I had a rich boyfriend."

Carlson guffawed. "I think I sense a pattern. Lee made pretty good money, didn't she?"

"She is a doctor."

"And Ms. Keane. She came from old money, right? Yep. There's a word for this sort of thing."

"Gold digger," Alvarez coughed into his fist. Harvey shoved him off his chair as the rest of the crew sniggered into their drinks.

Jim stared into his drink, keeping a bland expression on his face to show how unconcerned he was, but a chilling notion had reared its ugly head.

He concentrated on getting drunk and eventually, as his co-workers failed to get a rise out of him, the conversation moved on to other targets

"Think there's something to it?" Jim asked later as he and Harvey stumbled out to the curb and tried to flag a cab.

"To what?" Harvey yawned.

"What Carlson said. And Alvarez. You know, earlier."

Harvey squinted at him, face screwed into a frown as he struggled to remember a conversation that happened hours ago. "That gold digger crack?

Jim winced. "Yeah."

Harvey clucked his tongue. "You been stewing about that all night? Jesus, they were just giving you shit."

"But what do you really think, Harv?'' he asked, with an anxiety that was partly fuelled by too much alcohol, and he knew it, too, but...

He wasn't that shallow, was he?

"I think you need to sleep it off," Harvey said, then sighed, leaning against a newspaper kiosk. "Okay, let's look at this logically. Who were you with before Babs?"

"Tina. Ran her own business. A string of beauty parlors."

"Oh. So she's well off?"

"Loaded."

"How about before that?"

"Michael. He was a grad student, but..."

"But what?"

"His dad was in high finance. Bought him a seat on the stock exchange for his twenty-first birthday."

Harvey's eyebrows disappeared into his hair. "Wow. How'd you let that one get away? I'm kidding, relax," he added quickly at his friend's anguished expression. "Jim, it just shows you hook up with people who're successful. That's all."

"Yeah, I guess," Jim muttered.

Harvey clapped him on the back. "Quit worrying about it. Hey, how about on Monday we fill up Alvarez' and Carlson's lockers with shaving cream?"

"I'm not, you know," Jim said indignantly. "What they said."

Harvey shook his head. If a pointless prank against co-workers couldn't get Jim's mind off his troubles, nothing could. "Is Oswald paying your rent?"

"No!"

"Then I think you're good."

* * *

The next night Oswald brought him to the Blue Swan, the newest swanky restaurant for Gotham's elite.

Jim wasn't an especially verbose person, but to Oswald he seemed unusually quiet this evening, and he wondered, with a nervous fluttering in his stomach, why Jim was so broody.

Maybe Jim was reconsidering their relationship.

He chided himself for immediately jumping to a worst-case scenario. That was the insecurity talking. Jim had given no indication that he regretted being with Oswald, none whatsoever.

It was probably an issue at work that was distracting Jim.

His polite inquiries into work or difficult cases was met with equally polite responses, which should have alleviated his fears; it wasn't as if Jim was ignoring him.

He thought back over his most recent dealings with the seedier elements of the city. He no longer conducted that kind of business out of his house, and in any case he didn't think he'd done anything lately that might attract the attention of the GCPD. As willing as Jim was to look the other way nowadays, Oswald made efforts at flying as far under the radar as possible, to keep from disturbing Jim's conscience.

The arrival of the waiter with the check interrupted his ruminations and Oswald took out his wallet.

"You know what, let's split the check," Jim announced, and seized the little leather folder.

Oswald blinked. "Jim, this is a little out of your..."

Jim had already opened it. "Holy shit!"

Oswald glanced at the other customers, some of whom were turning in their seats at the outburst. "Could you say that a little louder? I don't think they heard you in the back."

Jim managed a sort of apologetic half-wave at his fellow diners. "I don't think I have enough in my wallet for half. I don't know if I have enough in the bank."

"I sincerely hope you're exaggerating." Oswald put his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together. "This is my treat. My turn to pay. We agreed to take turns."

Jim ran his eyes over the bill as if was a clue that could be slotted into place to solve a crime. "I guess I just didn't realize you got such a big turn."

It was a long ride home. The car was filled with a suffocating silence that Oswald was unwilling to break in the presence of the driver, and by the time they got back, Oswald was in a temper.

Once they were in the living room, he snapped, "I'm usually the sullen drama queen, Jim."

Jim looked up at him and ceased his restless pacing. Huffing out a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair. "It was just something somebody said, I guess I let it get to me."

"What did Bullock say this time?" Oswald asked wearily.

"Who said anything about Harvey?"

"Oh, come on," Oswald snapped. "Half the time when there's a problem, it's 'me and Harv were talking the other day and...'"

Going over to the drinks cabinet, he poured a wine glass almost to the top with cognac. It was cruel treatment of an expensive beverage, but he nonetheless planned on sucking down at least two of these before bedtime, if this lousy night continued on as it had been, Jim all moody and clamming up.

He threw down his cane on the couch and settled into the high-backed velvet-covered chair next to the cold fireplace.

Jim crouched down to get a fire started. The wood had already been arranged, it only remained to set it alight. Oswald watched Jim as he concentrated on the task of placing the long match to the kindling, his handsome features lit by the warm glow as the flames grew.

Jim stood up, straightening his back. "Harvey's not the problem. It was something somebody said, I don't know. I just wish I could pay my fair share."

"Well, what did 'they' say, then?" Oswald made air quotes with one hand. "Your lovely fellow officers, I imagine?"

Jim shifted his weight. "They were busting my chops, hinting I was some kind of gold digger."

Oswald sat perfectly still though his heart jolted with alarm, his anger washed away by sudden cold. "Oh, that is silly, isn't it?"

Jim stared at him, though Oswald was certain that not a muscle had moved on his face. "Oz," he said, "you don't think that, do you?"

"That is the height of absurdity, Jim, I most certainly don't."

Jim sat on the couch next to his chair, leaning forward on his elbows. "Is that why there've been so many presents lately? Sweetheart, if I ever gave you reason to think I'm with you because of your money..."

"No, don't," Oswald interrupted, his chest tightening. "It never crossed my mind." He smiled brightly, to be reassuring, though it felt false, fake, and he was dying inside. "I just thought it would be nice. What, I can't spoil you once in a while?"

Most irritatingly, Jim didn't look at all reassured. Jim's forehead wrinkled into a frown, half concern, half suspicious, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "What did you do?"

"What a devious mind you have," Oswald said with a chuckle.

Jim's face was hardening, becoming indignant, and then he let out a long sigh through his nose. His gaze softened and he reached over to curl his fingers around Oswald's hand where it gripped the armrest, though he almost had to pry Oswald's hand off. Oswald flushed and forced himself to relax. He hadn't been aware of his death grip.

"Don't do that, Oz," Jim said quietly. "I don't..." He gave Oswald's hand a gentle squeeze. "I don't want the Penguin right now.

Oswald felt his face all but catch fire. Jim wasn't supposed to have...have noticed.

Especially since Oswald himself had barely noticed.

God, was he so used to manipulating people that he even wielded it against Jim?

If Jim had snapped at him or demanded to know what was going on, Oswald would have responded in kind, with a sneer and a sarcastic remark, but he couldn't, not when Jim was looking at him with such steady openness.

"I...I hired a private detective to find your other exes. Just to get some photos, that's all," he added quickly as Jim's gaze sharpened. "I just wanted to see what they were like."

"Oh?" Jim relaxed once he knew that Oswald wasn't currently stalking them. Nonetheless, his frown deepened slightly, becoming more puzzled. "Why?"

Oswald brushed at imaginary lint on his suit jacket, feeling incredibly stupid to have given any credit to anything that came out of Barbara's mouth. Jim still held his hand, but Oswald held the glass up to his lips with the other. "Something Barbara said," he mumbled.

Jim put his hand on Oswald's wrist to gently push the glass down. "Come again?"

"Barbara." Oswald stuck out his jaw. "That reporter, Rick Foley, on channel 42, interviewed her. They showed a clip. She said." His lips pressed together in a thin line. "She said there was obviously only one reason you were with me, because, well, but what else could it be? And it got me wondering. Are all your exes like her and Lee?

"How do you do it, Jim? How do you land these beauties? Any one of them could be a swimsuit model. Especially Michael," he said, curling his lip. "Could cut glass with that chin. I'm the exception in your long line of gorgeous creatures."

Oswald hunched more deeply into the chair. "Anyway, a few little extra gifts here and there. Thought it'd help make up for..." He waved an irritated hand, to indicate the entirety of his being.

Jim was quiet for several moments, and when he let go of Oswald's hand, Oswald was sure he was insulted. Jim was going to leave the room, maybe leave the house and never come back.

Instead, Jim eased himself down to sit on Oswald's lap, carefully settling most of his weight on Oswald's good leg and wrapping an arm around the back of his shoulders.

Surprised, Oswald put the glass on the side table and wrapped his arms around Jim's waist.

Jim straightened one of Oswald's lapels. "If you don't know how beautiful you are, then I haven't been doing my job."

Oswald felt fresh heat spread up his neck. "You're just saying that."

Jim stroked his thumb over Oswald's cheek. "You are beautiful, Oswald," he said, and kissed him. "You're beautiful and I'm going to keep telling you until you believe it. You're beautiful. And you don't need to buy me stuff to keep me happy." He kissed his cheek.

"Not as beautiful as them," Oswald muttered. "Gonna tell me beauty's only skin deep? You know what's under this surface."

"I've seen. They can't compare. You're more beautiful than them in every way."

An incredulous chuckle escaped Oswald's mouth. "Now I know you're blowing smoke. My hair, I suppose? My nose?"

Jim nuzzled his nose. "Especially your nose, and your hair. Gorgeous. Your eyes. Stunning. Every freckle. I'm glad you stopped with that tan."

His hand was under Oswald's suit jacket, making slow strokes up and down his side. He drew his head back to gaze into Oswald's eyes. "You're beautiful."

Oswald looked away, not wanting Jim to see the tears welling up.

"Hey," Jim said quietly. "Look at me. Please?"

Angrily he dashed the tears away and tried to glare at Jim, certain he was being humored, but his indignation wilted under the calm sincerity in his lover's face.

He made a final effort, though he had no idea what he was trying to accomplish, other than trying to drive Jim away. It was a habit, he supposed. He always challenged Jim. Jim claimed that was part of the attraction, but surely there was a limit.

"The leg doesn't bother you?" he demanded.

Jim answered, "You know it doesn't." He tilted his head. "That something else Barbara said?"

Goddamn it. Jim was too good a detective. Oswald could only nod.

A hard gleam flickered across Jim's face that boded ill for Barbara but he cupped Oswald's cheek and kissed him so gently Oswald almost wept again.

"You must be sick of this," Oswald said. "All this crying."

"You've seen me cry."

"Not as much as me."

Jim smoothed a hand down his side again. "You're beautiful when you cry. When you laugh. When you rage. You're a storm. My beautiful, gorgeous, wild storm. You're beautiful and I love you."

The last bit of self control in him broke, like a twig snapping inside his chest, and a sob escaped him. He buried his face in Jim's collar.

Jim stroked his hair and held him until it was over.

As storms went it was a short one, no more than a brief squall, and soon Oswald lifted his head, feeling lighter.

"Damn it," Oswald muttered, wiping his eyes with the handkerchief Jim gave him. Flattery was getting Jim everywhere. Almost against his will he could feel a smile stretching across his lips. "You really want to stick with this? Moods and all?"

Jim nodded solemnly. "I'm exactly where I want to be. You're the one that's stuck with me, Oz. Long as you can put up with my bullshit." He raised his eyebrows as if he'd just remembered something. "Oh, and did I tell you you're beautiful?"

Oswald broke into helpless giggling. He let his forehead drop against Jim's dampened collar, feeling Jim's answering chuckle vibrate through his chest.

"Beautiful storm. When did you get so poetic?"

Jim shrugged, smiling ruefully. "That's all I got, really. Blew my wad." He sobered and nuzzled his ear. "It's no joke. You're so beautiful I can hardly keep my hands off you."

"Now you're just trying to get laid," Oswald said, but he was still smiling, his heart light.

"There's an idea. Speaking of blowing..." His voice became a low growl, and he stroked Oswald's thigh. "Think you'd like that, babe? Can I?"

Oswald swallowed hard. His cock twitched just from Jim's tone. Jim could hardly have missed it, given where he was seated."I think-think the answer is obvious, James."

"Tell me what to do," Jim whispered. "Whatever you want. Please?"

Oswald was finding it difficult to breathe. He couldn't recall Jim ever sounding quite so...subservient before.

The realization sent a thrill through Oswald which he was unable to analyze critically in the heat of that moment, but if this was what Jim wanted, he'd give it to him.

He loved Jim so much.

"Get on your knees."

Jim settled onto the floor, pushing Oswald's knees apart, looking at him expectantly, his hands on Oswald's hips.

"Kiss me," Oswald said, threading his fingers into Jim's hair. "And work your way down."

Jim started with his neck, kissing and nibbling at his throat just under his jaw, his fingers busy unknotting Oswald's tie.

We should really go upstairs, Oswald thought, but he couldn't bring himself to say it, what with the firelight gilding Jim's hair and face with a rosy glow, his hands slipping under Oswald and squeezing his ass. Making love in front of the fire, how cliche. The random thought flitted through his mind and was gone.

Oswald decided he rather liked this cliche.

Jim left the tie loose around Oswald's neck, and he made short work of the top buttons of Oswald's shirt, up until his hands reached his waistcoat.

"Fuck," he groaned, fumbling with the stiff buttons.

Oswald was unbearably hard and he groaned, wriggling closer to the edge of the chair, seeking contact with Jim's body. His impatience almost got the better of him and nearly made him yank off his clothes himself, but he checked the impulse. He wanted this to last a little longer.

His resolve wavered when Jim wrapped his hands around him, one around his back and the other gripping his ass, pressing them together.

Jim snaked his hand down between them to cup Oswald through his pants. "Baby, please," he groaned.

Oswald was sorely tempted to give in early. He ached. But the buzz of control was nearly as good as the pure physical sensation, heightening his arousal to dizzying heights.

He pulled Jim's hand away. "As you were," Oswald said, and maybe his voice was shaking more than he would have liked, but he fixed Jim with a stern look that seemed to do the trick.

Jim's eyes were dark with lust, and who knew, maybe the militaristic phrase Oswald belatedly realized he'd used was turning Jim on, too, which would account for the adoration Oswald thought he saw in his eyes.

Jim french-kissed him but good, slow and wet, then got back to work on the waistcoat and kissed along his collarbone until he got the stubborn buttons undone. He pulled the edges of Oswald's dress shirt out of his waistband and unceremoniously shoved his undershirt up so he could press kisses onto his chest, his thumbs running over his hardened nipples.

Oswald arched his back, leaning into Jim's touch.

He ran his hands down Oswald's sides, kissing his stomach, while Oswald stroked Jim's head and neck and shoulders, anywhere he could reach. "Your jacket, off," he said hoarsely. "In fact, strip to the waist."

Jim backed off enough to pull it off and fling it aside, then dragged off both shirt and undershirt at once. He got back to work unzipping Oswald's fly and free his erection from the confines of his underwear.

Oswald's head fell back as Jim's mouth enclosed him in wet heat.

Slow, easy movements as Jim moved up and down, his tongue circling the head. Then up and down again, firm and steady.

Oswald was careful to keep the hand buried in Jim's hair gentle as he sifted the soft strands, and he stroked Jim's sculpted arms and shoulders, golden in the warm glow of the fire.

Jim hummed and Oswald gasped at the vibration, rocking his hips to slide in and out of Jim's willing mouth.

Jim moved more carefully, matching Oswald's movements, and then he slid his lips off the tip with a wet pop. He licked along his length, ending with a lick at Oswald's head, his blue eyes shining up at Oswald. "That's it, babe. God, you're so beautiful. So hot."

He shifted his weight with a look of discomfort and Oswald realized the problem. Jim had an erection, but instead of taking care of it, he was waiting for permission.

"Touch yourself, Jim."

Jim wasted no time undoing his own pants and reaching a hand inside before going down on Oswald again. With one hand gripping Oswald's thigh and the other pumping himself, it only took another minute or two to send Oswald over the edge, one hand clenching the armrest as his entire body stiffened and he spilled into Jim's mouth with a cry.

Euphoria filled him, heady, intoxicating. Jim held on to him, swallowing, until his softened penis slipped from his mouth.

Jim panted against Oswald's thigh and his hand still moved, pumping vigorously. He moaned and his other hand gripped Oswald's hip.

Gasping, he laid his head in Oswald's lap. Oswald stroked his hair and and gradually their breathing steadied.

"I think...got a little on the carpet," Jim murmured.

Oswald giggled weakly. "For heaven's sake, don't let Olga find out."

* * *

Later, after they'd wiped up the rug and gone upstairs to shower, Jim paused in the doorway of the bathroom to regard Oswald as he lay under the covers, in his fancy silk pajamas, his hair mussed and damp, and wondered how he got so lucky.

Oswald was gorgeous. He must know that, surely. Jim simply hadn't thought to state the obvious. Oswald was usually so cocky about everything else, but clearly Jim had been neglectful in that regard.

"You could've had me strip naked," Jim said as he crawled under the covers. "I would've."

Oswald stretched, languid as a cat. "Reminded me of a Chippendale dancer."

Jim threw his head back and burst out laughing and it took a few moments until he could compose himself. "I'll have to get a little bowtie. What, you want a little dance, too?"

"Ooo, sounds enticing."

"Don't get too excited. You haven't seen me dance yet."

He sobered and said, "About earlier? At the restaurant. I'm sorry I made a scene."

Oswald chuckled. "It wasn't that much of a scene, Jim. Don't worry."

"Eh. Probably not so great for your image."

"Considering what scenes I've personally caused? I think I'll survive this particular scandal."

"Not sure what I was doing. Had a sudden urge to prove something to myself."

"I suppose I ought to curb the excessive gift giving."

"Yeah, you don't want to spoil me."

"I'll return the tickets. Perhaps something less extravagant for your birthday."

"Tickets?"

"Season tickets for the Dragons."

"What?!" Jim sat up. "The Gotham City Dragons?"

"Yes, Jim, the Gotham City Dragons," Oswald said patiently. "Ringside seats, I'm given to understand. Is that good?"

"Courtside," Jim croaked.

"Oh, of course. I'm not very familiar with basketball." He shrugged disarmingly, as if he hadn't just snatched the rug out from under Jim. "I just thought you might like to attend with Harvey."

As Jim struggled to form words, Oswald shrugged again, looking mildly shame-faced as he picked at the bedspread. "I have to be honest, James, I also saw the potential in cultivating a little more goodwill with your partner. The man's insufferable but..." he wrinkled his nose. "My usual methods of manipulation, attempting to curry favor and whatnot, which I really ought to curb in relation to you and the people around you."

He smiled brightly at Jim's slack-jawed expression. "I'll send them back tomorrow. You don't have to worry. Can you lie down, darling, I'm tired.'

Jim hunkered down, mind racing as he wrapped his arms around him and Oswald go settled on his shoulder. He tried to make his voice less pathetic. "Well. If it...if they...I mean, birthdays. A birthday...could pull out all the stops once in a while. A birthday is a pretty big deal, right? Maybe worth a slightly bigger present?"

He took in Oswald's too-innocent expression and sighed, hanging his head for a moment before looking up again. "Do I have to beg? I'm gonna have to beg, aren't I?"

Oswald giggled and relented, dropping all pretense. "Oh, honey, of course not. You only have to ask." He sobered. "You'll tell me though, won't you, if I go overboard in the future."

Jim leaned in to capture his lips with his own, flooded with relief at having saved the tickets-actual goddamned Dragons season tickets!-from oblivion. "I will, babe. I will. Like, just ...just right after this one thing."


End file.
